KNOCK IT OFF Podcast

Yes, We can

Let’s Show up for the U.S. National Team competing in the 2023 FIFA Women’s World Cup

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First thing first. Have you heard of the enneagram? If not, allow me to explain it to you.

The enneagram is an ancient personality typing system. I know, I know. Yet another personality test. We take enough of those at the Human Resources department. However, I love the enneagram because it is so deeply rooted in the experience of what it is to be human. It ebbs and flows. It’s not stuck on one number, recognizing that we fluctuate as living, breathing souls. The foundations of the enneagram have been circulating for a long time.

The traditional enneagram is in relative infancy, developed in the 1960’s by a man named Oscar Ichazo, according to enneagraminstitute.com. However, the philosophy is formulated from a variety of ancient wisdoms from the Christian, Judaism, Taoism, Buddhism, and Greek traditions.

I dig a strong personality test because it assists us to delve further into understanding ourselves and how we relate to one another in this madhouse of a world. It helps answer the age-old question of why we are the way that we are — a phrase I often utter to myself in traffic regarding the driving behaviors of other people.

I believe I was introduced to the enneagram by Richard Rohr, a spiritual author and teacher who trained in the Franciscan priest tradition. Side note: he is a fascinating mystic. The enneagram is composed of nine different personality types. Typically, a person self-identifies most with a particular number and often has some of the personality characteristics of the number closest to their primary number as well (i.e. an enneagram four has either a three wing or a five wing, an enneagram nine has either a one wing or an eight wing). It is normal to find some of oneself in most of the numbers but a person will likely identify more so with one number type.

DANIELA-DESIGNS//GETTY IMAGES

I quickly binged a couple of books and a few podcasts on the topic. I took a test. I took a different enneagram test. They both revealed I was a “one.” I checked in with a few close friends and family members to see if this “sounded like me.” They concurred. True to a one’s form, I had to ensure I was typing myself correctly, the first time. Ones are often called the reformers, the perfectionists, the idealists. Sounds kind of boring.

A key pattern of being a one is a constant self-critique. How could I have done that better? What did I do wrong? This ties into the need for perfection. Ones have very high standards of self and others and tend to judge people often because of this. They like to follow the rules (and feel the world would be a better place if others would follow suit), they will sacrifice pleasure by working too hard or forgoing delightful activities because it feels irresponsible. They have learned to control their emotions, feeling like they have done something bad when they reveal them to others.

Being a one, as a parent, has opened up pandora’s box of questioning of self and why I react or do things the way I do them when raising little humans. The self critic (highly characteristic of a one) has intensified brutally. The critic of others and the correct order of life has intensified. These developments have begged for heightened awareness. This reflective writing may be my feeble attempt to feed the continuum of growth as I journey the path of an enneagram one, raising three children.

In order to help the reader understand this perspective, I have compiled the following list of examples that may describe what the day-to-day operations of being a one is like. The list is not at all exhaustive, nor fact-checked with the enneagram experts. It is meant to provide insight (and ideally, a chuckle or two) to the reader as to the challenges this number faces.

* You internally criticize the daycare parking lot situation every time you pull up, lamenting as to why people choose to park directly next to one another when there is a full empty row across the way (literally a three second walk) knowing that we all have young children to unload and massive car doors to swing open. This is not the proper way to do things. Let’s work smarter, people.

* When you pick your kiddo up and do a quick once-over, you immediately notice he is wearing two different sized shoes, and both are meant for the right foot (one is his big brother’s and three sizes too big). Your mind begets the question “How did this happen and why?” You may call your spouse to bring the correct shoe to basketball practice and their first reaction is to laugh (how refreshing, and also, how definitely NOT a one).

* Feeling morally damaged when someone interrupts your thoughts, work, writing, etc.

* Burning holes with your eyeballs into the same item lying on the floor as you pass by it over and over again. You decline to pick it up and put it away, however, because it’s not your responsibility, not your item. It is someone else’s responsibility to fulfill. Still, it haunts you.

* Contemplating for the better part of a decade if and when you should go part-time at work/in your career. You agonize over if its the “right” choice for yourself, your family, your work environment.

* Constantly feeling the need/drive that you should be learning or doing something new.

* Feeling personally victimized when your kids (or husband) leave their shoes in your car.

* Experiencing physical distress when you are the car holding an entire line up at the coffee shop drive through while waiting for black coffee, the simplest order in eternity, in your mind.

* Overthinking ever getting a tattoo because you can’t fathom anything you would want on your body forever.

* Overthinking other people’s car bumper sticker choices and the potential repercussions for them.

* Unfollowing churches because they don’t “live up” to your moral code but you still find yourself so deeply drawn to mysticism and the divine and the beauty in fair and just behavior.

* There is a way you do things, and if that is altered or distracted, you can become very disoriented and shaken. If something goes wrong as a result, you moan internally that you know exactly why, because it wasn’t done per protocol.

* When people make mistakes because they did not pay attention to detail, you find it hard to not write them off (an exaggeration but if you’re a one, or a one wing, you get it).

* You can be incredibly defensive when criticized, because your own internal critic has already covered that, via multiple angles, fifty times over.

* Throwing your child’s birthday party is a process that begins three months prior to the carefully selected date. Astute consideration is had regarding the details, the format, the guest list, the assignments. You also find it extremely hard or impossible to enjoy yourself at said event, because you are preoccupied with how good of a time everyone else is having.

* When you feel overworked or over-stimulated, you retreat into yourself and find it difficult to communicate verbally what you are feeling or what you need (answer: usually solitude/quiet time).

“I think being a one is really, really hard.”

I heard that recently and felt so seen. I also realize being any number on the enneagram is hard. They all have their own challenges, their own work to do.

A one’s inner voice of censorship, criticism, and condemnation can rest easy at times as we realize that others feel this way and it’s not something inherently wrong with us. We realize that when we are in our “healthy” space as a one, we act like a seven. Sevens are a lot of fun! They can be free and cut loose when they don’t feel criticized by others! They can be spontaneous and often love a good dance party to release it all. They tap into creativity and spirituality. That’s a one when we are solidly vibing!

When we’re unbalanced, or “unhealthy”, we migrate toward the characteristics of an unhealthy four. We withdraw, feeling entirely misunderstood. We fear loneliness and abandonment and not being “good.” We are irritable, not much fun to be around, and rigid. Blah.

All numbers on the enneagram have directions of integration (growth) and disintegration (stress). As in the example above, a one acts like a seven when healthy, and a four when unhealthy. Each number has a number they go to when healthy or unhealthy. It does not mean that any number is better or worse than another. Contrary, it sheds light onto where our personalities default to in times of stress and growth, a very important concept to understand!

Isn’t it fascinating to be curious about yourself? Have you ever taken an enneagram test, listened to a podcast, or read a book on it? If you are just getting started, I would recommend The Road Back to You by Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile (modern day enneagram experts and teachers). It gives a solid overview of the nine numbers and how they relate to one another. It will provide a helpful foundation for learning more about where you fall on the enneagram. Try not to fret if you find it difficult to identify with one number over another. As you learn and remain consistent in finding more out about yourself, this will be revealed.

There are also a number of (free) online enneagram tests you can take that we will list below.

The bottom line: remain curious about yourself and others. When we tap into the eccentric qualities of our individual personalities, we may just find that we relate to one another in a profoundly new way. Which, let’s be honest, is so desperately needed in this time in history.

“Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.”

- Carl Jung, Swiss psychiatrist

What number are you?

Will you share with us some examples of how you know you are that number?

What do you find difficult about your number? What do you love about it?

Links referenced:

www.enneagram-personality.com (scroll down to the bottom of the result page to get your free report)

www.truity.com

A Book Update for Bethany . . .

Also, I wanted to share an update with you all on the progress of my children’s book, “What Did Duke Do Today?” Milan is currently completing the sketches for pages 6 and 7, which describe Duke’s adventures in the kitchen, hurling Italian breadcrumbs throughout the air, and at the beach where he used bear-like strength to break his leash in two to chase the birds!

I am hopeful to begin working on text placements and edits within the next couple of weeks. Kara had been a huge help, guiding me throughout the process.

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**This post may contain affiliate links, which means any purchase made through a link earns the author a small commission, at no additional cost to you.

Will You Have Another?

Reflections on the size of our brood

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Mom . . . Do You Want a Blanket?

A lesson in being vulnerable with our children.

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The Power of the Streak

Expanding on the concepts in Kara’s first book

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The Most Magical Place on Earth

Reflections from my time as an unwitting Disney passholder

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How Taking Coffee Black Dropped the Freshman 15 and Beyond

A lesson in finding contentment

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We want to wish a very Happy Father’s Day to any dad who may be reading, especially to our own Dad and our husbands (who, lets face it, may or may not be reading). We are so very grateful to have them all in our lives.

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You Think It’s Overkill?

We go BIG for recitals.

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You might know by now that at a certain point in our childhood, we moved to sunny California. But not the California that comes to mind when you think of the great Pacific Coast or the Hollywood sign or the cinematic scene painted by the “Real” Housewives of Beverly Hills. No, we lived in the middle of the Mojave desert in a small, rather isolated town of about 25,000 people along Route 395.

Our dusty city was known as Ridgecrest. Its claim to fame was being the epicenter of earthquakes in the United States. Rumor has it that Ridgecrest also had the highest number of teenage pregnancies per capita in the country at the time, a statistic the city probably wouldn’t want to claim. The initial settlers called the town “Crumville,” with the official name being settled on in 1941 as Ridgecrest (following an intense race between Sierra View and Gilmore). Naturally, we took to calling it Crumville nonetheless.

While we are on the topic of Ridgecrest anecdotes, here’s one more piece of trivia for you. The recently-filmed iconic scene with Tom Cruise in the airplane hanger appearing in the intro and ending of “Top Gun: Maverick” took place at the Inyokern airport, a sleepy pass-through town of 857 residents just outside the city limits of its big sister, Ridgecrest. When Kara watched the movie, she recognized the scene without knowing in advance where it was filmed. Dad, a private pilot, used to fly out of Inyokern airport, sometimes with one or more kids as passengers.

There isn’t a whole lot to do in Ridgecrest, probably owing to its location, its dry heat, and its size. (The teenage pregnancy rumor is gaining more and more traction….) One summer, while we were attempting to entertain ourselves “laying out” in the backyard on beach towels while our little brother caught massive lizards with his buddy, our parents gave us an incredible gift.

They bought a boat.

This was a big deal. First, there were the financials. We have no idea what was paid for the boat or how it all came about other than to know that it was purchased used from a family friend, but we could sense this was an investment in fun like no other our parents had ever made. Even as young kiddos, we were intuitive enough to realize that mom and dad had taken a big leap on this adventure.

Second, there were the logistics. Where in the desert could one use a boat? How would we learn the pasttime? What would we do on said boat?

Third, there was the most important question: when could we take her for the first ride? (Somehow, the two of us missed out on the infamous inaugural outing that included rescuing two young men from a capsized fishing boat. We think it was probably because of a dance performance and a soccer game. But we rarely missed another trip.)

About the logistics, dad found the perfect spot in Lake Isabella, just a “short” one-and-a-half hour ride away from our town. On designated boat days, we’d all pile in the blue Suburban with our Bayliner bowrider in tow, and drive out to the lake while fighting over how high to put the A/C and being threatened to “lose rear control” if we couldn’t figure it out among ourselves.

As we rounded the corner nearing the lake, we’d spot the sign for the “Dam Korner,” a cleverly named fuel spot and mini mart. This sight would immediately trigger our taking serious license with saying the word dam as many ways and times as possible. We knew we were pushing the bounds when we started calling it the “dam it station,” so we’d typically dial it back at that point.

Anyone who owns a boat knows the amount of money and prep work that continues to go into it even after it is acquired. To drive home this point, our dad often says that “BOAT” stands for “bring on another thousand.”

To help our parents spend that initial wad, our first order of business was to get our hands on a catalog from Overton’s. Before the days of Amazon and easy shipping from Dick’s and like sporting-goods stores, Overton’s was the one and only source for all things boating. (We’re happy to report that Overton’s is still in business!) We ordered up a slew of O’Neill life jackets in all sizes and bright colors. We got some water skis and ropes. And we purchased Wild Thing.

What is Wild Thing, you ask? It’s the name we awarded to a large inflatable rocket that multiple kids could ride at once while trailing behind the boat, waves splashing in our faces, dancing as we held on for dear life, simultaneously singing our famous theme song: “WILD THING . . . You make my heart sing. You make everything groovy. Wild thing. Wild thing, I think I love you. But I wanna know for sure . . .” (Wild Thing looked somewhat similar to this, currently available online from Overton’s, but without so many bells and whistles and bumps to keep the kids onboard. It was the 90’s, man.)

Learning how to become a boater seemed to come quite naturally to dad. Mom had her strengths—including packing the most delicious turkey sandwiches, fried chicken, and Chips Ahoy cookies for our outings—but backing in the boat trailer for launching was never one of them. In fairness to mom, when backing in a trailer, every instinct in your body tells you to do the opposite of what you should do. If you turn the steering wheel to the left, the trailer goes right, and so on and so forth. We rarely witnessed our parents disagreeing or fighting, but they could slip up every now and then at the boat dock.

Once in the lake, it was time to cruise around while laying out on in the bow (the front, for those of you non-boaters). Then it was time to start waterskiing or riding Wild Thing. We’d swim, have lunch, and do it all over again. Before we knew it, the day was over and it was time to go home. One or more of us would usually pass out on the trip home due to sheer exhaustion and too much sun. We’d dread getting home to Sherri street because we knew that when we arrived, the after work would begin.

We have the fondest memories on the “Babeliner,” as we called it. We soaked up the desert sun. We learned to water ski. We witnessed our dad shed a very rare tear of joy when our mom got up on water skis for the first time. We saw our little brother catch his very first fish (so tiny it had to be thrown back, but he caught it!) which led to his lifetime love of fishing. We laughed with bellies full of chips and cookies. We cried when Wild Thing died. (And promptly bought a new one.) We bonded as a family and as siblings. We didn’t love the hard work that went into cleaning the boat after each outing, but we understood this was a necessary part of keeping the fun alive and reluctantly learned the value of grit.

When it came time to leave California, mom and dad sold the boat. In a prediction dad may never live down, he said we probably “wouldn’t have any water” wherever we would land. Of course, we landed in North Florida, with bodies of water (lakes, river, ocean) surrounding us in every direction.

Despite all the water near our new home, we didn’t have a boat for years. We were in the thick of high school sports and activities—too busy for full days on the water. We did have a friend who lived on the creek and would take us out wake-boarding among the gators who were visibly sunning themselves along the banks. (We do NOT recommend hanging in creeks with gators. What were we thinking? Did our parents know about this?) And after Kara got married, she and her husband bought a small boat with the help of her sweet mother-in-law, which served all of the families well for years before babies started coming.

Perhaps owing to days on Kara’s boat along with great memories on their own, mom and dad got the itch again. With a sprinkle of nostalgia and a bit of thriftiness, Dad again purchased a very used Bayliner, this time from a man named Captain Ken. After multiple thousands and multiple failed trips, dad threw his hands up and sold that one.

Soon after, our parents bought a brand new Monterey boat that is large enough to fit just about the entire extended family. To quote one of our favorite movies, “She’s a beaut, Clark.”

Now our children are growing up with the same boating experiences we had as kids, but this time in Doctor’s Lake. They’re learning how to water ski. They’re slowly figuring out the right way to “WIPE OUT” while attempting to water ski. (“Let goooooooo!!”) They’re eating elevated turkey sandwiches (mom brings a variety of cheese and meats now) and cookies. They’re riding big inflatables. They’re resolving conflict within the confines of a floating vessel for hours at a time. They formed the “GCC,” which stands for “Good Choices Club,” in which they remind each other “Yo, we’re in the GCC…yeah, you know me!” when one child is about to go rogue. They sit with Captain Grandpa and help steer the craft.  They chat idly with their aunts while cruising around the lake. They belly laugh in their lifevests as their uncles disappear below the surface of the water in front of them, only to pop up behind them. They’re bonding with each other and the whole family. They spend quiet moments with themselves staring out at the reflective blue water, lost in the mysterious thoughts of childhood. They’re witnessing the adults’ efforts to make the day a special one for all involved, as a team. And they love it.

Our parents probably knew it each time, but they didn’t just invest in a depreciating asset. They invested in life spent on the water, with their people. In tan lines that last beyond the length of summer days. In moments of pure delight as we witness a kiddo get up on the water skis for the first time. They invested in sacred time with our toddlers as they fall asleep on their mamas, covered in a beach towel that is shielding them from the wind and sun. They invested in lifetimes of special memories that are spilling over into multiple generations, compounding interest with each grateful statement of “Thanks for taking us out on the boat, Grandma and Grandpa.”

So, bring on another thousand.

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Stick it to Me

The toddler stage is not for the faint of heart

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